He'd Left His Helmet On
by Kiku Hoshi
Summary: What if their worlds were switched-the pureblood witch and the muggle-born boy? What would his motorcycle have to do with any of this?
1. The Ride

"George! Slow down! I don't like this, one bit! Please, George," whined the girl on the back of the motorcycle. With a mischievous grin, George Weasely slowed down the blue Harley Davidson he'd had imported straight from America.

He'd decided to take the one girl he was smitten with for a ride. But she'd never been on a Muggle motorcycle. No wonder: she was a pureblood, while he, and the rest of the Weasely's were Muggle-born.

"Fine, love." He slowed to a stop, and instantly the girl jumped off, yelling insanely while trying to get the helmet off.

God, she was beautiful when she was mad.

"Dammit, George Weasely! WHAT ARE YOU SNIGGERING FOR!"

"Sweetie, you take it off like this…"

He put the kickstand down, and got off the bike. He undid the knot she had made, and slipped the helmet off her head.

Her milk-chocolate colored waves fell gently around her shoulders, as her caring, yet frightened, brown eyes showed their golden flecks.

"Are you trying to kill me, George Taylor Weasley?"

He shook his head. His baby blue eyes had a sad, almost puppy-like look to them. They made her heart melt every time she was around him. Reaching up, she ruffled his chestnut brown head of hair.

For a moment, they just stood and looked into each other's eyes. A car passed, honking it's horn angrily at the two, and one of the passengers yelled something, but neither of them were listening.

"Come on, I have to show you something…"

He took her hand and led her towards a cliff. Near the edge of it was a circular shaped rock. He smiled and beckoned her to sit down on it.

"When I was younger, my twin brother and I would come out here and just talk. Sometimes we'd play pretend, other times we'd talk about what we wanted in life.

"He always told me power, and money. I guess that's why he dove into the Dark Arts. And every time he asked me that, I'd say, 'A little house. Probably like the one we live in. And, as you came up the drive, there would be a little garden that my wife would be tending. My children would be running around, playing tag, or perhaps soccer, with our dog.

"'As you walk over to my wife, you'd see first not her, but the dirt on her hands as she wiped them off on her jeans. Or perhaps the basket of strawberries she was picking. Either way, you'd never notice her.'"

"'What does she look like?' he'd always ask. I'd give him the same answer: 'Brown hair, with the most loving brown eyes. And our littlest child, a boy, would look just like her. He'd have all the good looks.' And we'd have a good laugh.

"But the thing is, we were in primary school when I described this, long before we got our letters. Long before I met you.

"When we came to Hogwarts, we were shy… Didn't know anyone.

"Two years passed. By now, we were popular. Fred had Katie Bell, and I had no one.

"My brother came to Hogwarts, and befriended Harry Potter and you.

"Five years passed. I knew I was in love with you, but how to make you see, 'Mione? How to show you that you were the one I cared about. I'm only a Mudblood, after all. Surely you wouldn't pay attention to me."

"But I did. I still do."

"And that's why I brought you here. To tell you everything. But also to fulfill a promise I made to Fred before he died."

"What was that?" Hermione asked, her eyes full of wonder. Grinning like a small boy who'd been granted access to the world's best candy store, he whispered a spell. Three doves appeared, and each of them carried something.

The first dove that came to Hermione gave her eight roses. She read the card attached to it: 'One for every year I love you.'

"One more rose appears every year… It's part of the charm."

She smiled happily as the second dove flew down and deposited a key in her hand.

"The key to your heart," she murmured. He nodded.

Finally, the third dove landed on her lap. On it's back was a box shaped like two hearts. She opened it and tears spilled onto her cheeks.

Inside, seated on a red crushed velvet pillow, was a silver ring. Imbedded in it were three stones: one emerald, one rose-tinted crystal, and one diamond, right in between the two.

"It's beautiful…"

"Just like you…"

He took it out of it's spot and placed it on her finger.

"You were born in May," he said, pointing to the emerald. She nodded. "I was born in October," he murmured, pointing to the crystal. She nodded again.

"When we got engaged, it was in April."

It took her a moment to remember that day's date: April 9th. She started to cry.

"I guess that you know that this means…"

"Yes, I will, George. I will. I always will."

He sat beside her, and watched her eyes for a moment. When he found what he needed, he smiled.

"You are the wife I always told Fred about."

With that he stood, his helmet still on. She smiled, having forgotten that. How could the man propose with something so chunky on his head? Oh well, it didn't matter.

"Well, Miss Granger, are you willing to give my motorcycle another go?"

"On one condition."

"Anything, babe."

"Don't go so fast."

Laughing, he go on the bike, his eyes twinkling. She sighed and got on behind him. She could change some things about him, but the rest was what made George, well, George!

Squealing his tires, he spat some gravel into the grass, and sped off, with Hermione squealing and hugging him as if her life depended on it.

"GEORGE WEASLEY, SLOW DOWN!"

Even through the plastic visor of his helmet and the wind in her ears, she could hear him chuckling. Go figure. He'd never learn.


	2. The Night

"Hey, 'Mione, how long have we known each other?"

She mumbled something in her sleep that sounded remotely like 'Since Hogwarts'. He smiled at her pale shoulder.

God, he sure did love her. George wasn't the mushy type, but god, he'd be nothing without her.

"I love you."

"Lommm ooo dooo," she murmured into her pillow. He smiled again and laid his head down. It wasn't the greatest profession of love he'd gotten, but it'd work. Especially since she was alseep.

He closed his eyes, willing the night to never end.


End file.
